


I'm With The Band

by Lolastar231



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Feels, Kissing, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rock Band, rubbish lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-15 06:29:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1294882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lolastar231/pseuds/Lolastar231
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Stiles is a fantastic guitar player and auditions for a rock band called Hunter's Moon.  Derek is the lead singer and has been obsessed with Stiles for months.  Much snogging happens and also some sexytimes filth. </p>
<p>I've written lyrics for this - they're bad, but please don't copy them w/o asking me or do anything weird with them.  </p>
<p>This is also my first Teenwolf fic and it's not been beta'd.  I obviously am not Jeff or anyone else related to TW and I totally love canon but this just had to be written.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm With The Band

Stiles pushes out of the Jeep and darts a glance around the area he’s in.  It’s mostly warehouses and semi-industrial and it doesn’t look particularly dangerous but then it doesn’t really look very safe either.  But then he grew up as the Sheriff’s kid and he knows how to take care of himself.  (He makes sure he’s thumbed the local police department’s number on the keypad of his phone and all he has to do is press ‘dial’ if anything does go wrong.).  It doesn’t make him feel like a wuss.  No, he’s prepared.  He’s always prepared.  He glances at the Prius in the parking lot, the Benz and a tidy little red sports car and decides that maybe the area is not that dangerous after all because basically criminals tend to drive uglier cars. Mostly they drive muscle cars or SUVs or motorbikes because movies told him so.

Shoving his getting mugged worries aside, he reaches for his backpack in the back of the jeep, slings his guitar case over his shoulder and clomps his way across to the warehouse with a big 13 spray painted on the door. He can hear voices and music and for a second he hesitates before sliding the door open and stepping into the warehouse.

There’s a group of people there already.  He sweeps his gaze across the interior of the warehouse, spotting that the band’s gear is all set up and everyone’s just standing around, necking beers and chatting. 

Stiles can smell pizza and garlic and he realizes that he’s starving because he’s not had anything to eat the whole day.  Which seems to be his life these days.

A guy looks up and spots him hovering uncertainly in the doorway.  He’s tall and lanky with a killer smile and baby blue eyes.  

“Hey, you must be Stiles?  You’re here for audition, right?”  He walks over and holds out a hand.  “I’m Isaac.  Bass.”

“Uh, hey.  Sorry I’m late.  Class ran late and well, it was the worst timing, basically.”

Isaac holds up his phone where Stiles could see his text on display. “You let us know, that’s what matters.  Come in, meet everyone else.  Drop your gear.  Grab something to eat.  We’re waiting for Derek to turn up anyway.”  Isaac leads him to the group and introduces him to everyone.  “Boyd’s drums.  Allison is lead guitar.  Lydia is…” He frowns prettily at the strawberry blonde girl who’s listening to something on her iPod and ignoring everyone else.  “Lydia is complicated and plays the piano and whatever else that’s arty.”

“What the hell am I?” another boy asks, walking out of the shadows. He’s dressed in jeans, a long sleeved t-shirt and battered trainers.  “Chopped liver?”

“Oh, this is Scott.  Scott is…”

“The one who fucked up and the reason the band needs bailing out, basically.”  He grins a goofy grin and shakes Stiles’ hand with his left hand.  Stiles likes him immediately and grins back at him.

“Nice to meet you guys.” He does a small wave and is rewarded with smiles from everyone except Lydia who’s not even looked up from examining her nails.  Rude. “How long have you all been jamming together?”

“About a year,” Allison says, wrapping her arms around Scott’s neck as he sidles up to her, kissing him soundly.  “We started by just hanging out and then we thought, let’s start a rock band and so we did.”

Stiles laughs at her because obviously that’s what you do when you look like her and her friends; you start a rock band because why not?  Fuck his sad life playing jazz guitar duets in a crummy dive off campus.  He gratefully accepts a beer from Isaac.  “I’ve seen you guys around campus.  Everyone loves your stuff. Why do you need a new guitar player?”

“I broke my arm.” Scott lifts his right arm to show the offending cast.  “I dove off the balcony at Coach Finstock’s house got damaged.”

“Dude, you’ve always been damaged. IN THE HEAD.  Now you get to add your arm to it too.”  Boyd’s voice is a pleasantly deep rumble.  The way he’s spread himself along the couch makes Stiles grin.  The guy is big and possibly a bit intimidating but he seems nice.  Lydia pops her earphones out and pouts at Stiles.

“Have we really not liked any of the other guys that auditioned today?   _Must_   _he_ audition?”

Isaac frowns at Lydia.  “Just because he’s prettier than you, Lydia, doesn’t mean we veto him right away.”  Stiles feels his jaw drop open at Isaac’s words but Isaac just points a finger at Lydia.  “Stop being the little bitch. It’s not going to work.  Not this time.”

Lydia narrows big eyes at Isaac but then pouts and holds her arms open and he goes into them willingly.  “I love it when you get bossy,” she says, kissing his cheek and snuggling against him as he leans into her on the couch.  Isaac rolls his eyes but smiles at Stiles.

“She likes being the pretty one.”

Stiles has no idea what to say because basically genetically the entire band seem disgustingly blessed.  If anything he’s definitely the one who should walk out because if they’re aiming for good looking with rock n roll attitude and a hot body that’s so not him.  Not by a long shot of the imagination.  But he knows music. It’s in his blood and he can’t not play music and write songs the same way some people can’t not go to gym or take meth.  It’s what he’s about.  And what makes it worse is that he’s heard Hunter’s Moon play a few times now and he definitely wants in.  They’ve got a great sound and they have great chemistry on stage.  Their original stuff rocks and their covers are fun and different enough to keep it fresh and new.   He’d only seen them perform three or four times (okay, possibly five, no six, times and it positively had nothing to do with their lead singer who was hotter than a bucket of spicy chicken wings from Alfie’s in town) and thought they were one of the best live bands he’d ever seen.

“Do you play?” Boyd asks him, interrupting his thoughts by pulling out a travel chess set.

“Yeah, I’m not really good though?”  Stiles admits, sitting down opposite him on the floor. 

“Perfect.” Boyd’s smile is blinding.  “Grab some food, mate.  Who knows when Derek’s getting here anyway.  He’s been in the foulest of moods ever. You okay to wait for a while, right?  No girlfriend to get back to on a Friday night? No hot dates lined up?”

Stiles splutters a laugh and snags a slice of pizza before Scott sneaks a hand in to grab another for himself.  “No, no time for stuff like that, man. Who does? School and music takes up all my time.  I’m good to hang out.”  He ignores the fact that he has an English Lit paper due on Monday because fuckit, it’s Friday afternoon and he’s young and he was auditioning for one of the coolest bands in the area.  What could go wrong?

Talk flows around him as he devours a couple more slices of pizza and loses his first game against Boyd.  He likes how everyone banters, how they talk over one another and shout and laugh.  They include him in a ridiculous argument about superheroes and it turns out that Scott’s never seen Star Wars and everyone, even Lydia, wants to disown him because of this.

They’re raucous and he can tell they genuinely like one another.  He watches Lydia though because she intrigues him.  She seems all soft, with her sexy pout and big eyes but he suspects she’s brimful of hidden steel. He catches her watching him with a thoughtful expression a few times and he wonders what she makes of him.

About half an hour later the door to the warehouse slams open and a tall guy in a battered leather jacket walks in.  Stiles snaps upright from where he’s considering his next move with Boyd and feels the air in the warehouse shift as everyone sits a bit straighter.  Derek Hale doesn’t walk, Stiles decides, watching him move.  The guy stalks and dear god, he can see the muscles in his thighs bunch beneath the tight jeans he’s wearing.  There’s swagger and eyebrows and fuck, cheekbones so steep you need mountaineering gear to scale it.  And he’s big, wide shoulders, lean hips, muscled thighs and long legs.   Fuck, the guy was basically a walking wet dream.  And, from the smirk curling around his full mouth, he knows it. 

Stiles feels himself go very still because the way Derek flicks his gaze across them, before they rest on Stiles, looks really predatory and a bit  _unhinged_.

“Whose piece of shit Jeep is parked in my spot?” he demands, obviously knowing full well that it has to belong to Stiles because obviously he’d know what cars his band members drive.  “I had to park the Pig next to Lydia’s Prius.”  He says ‘Prius’ like some people would say ‘dog shit’.  “And seriously? Lydia, you need to get another car because no rock star in their right mind should fucking drive a Prius.”

Everyone’s staring at him in silence until Stiles stands up, running suddenly cold hands down his thighs.  “Uh, I think you’re talking about my ride?  And she’s not a piece of shit.”

There’s a full beat where Derek’s gaze drags over Stiles, taking all of him in before he speaks again, his voice chill, his expression murderous. “Who the hell are you?” 

“I’m Stiles. I’m here for the audition?”

Derek huffs out a breath of air.  “I forgot.” He rakes ringed fingers through his hair before shaking his head.  “Fuck.  Let’s do it then.”

Stiles knows that he shouldn’t read anything rude into the invitation but it’s hard not to because Derek is unbearably fucking sexy and clearly Stiles has a type.

___________

 

Derek is having the worst time of his life, possibly ever. He did not expect Stiles fucking Stilinski to show up at the warehouse for an audition. He’d been to the jazz club where Stiles played on weekends more often than was good for his street cred the past six months. 

Derek recognized talent when he saw it, but he also recognized the kid’s passion and dedication.  The way Stiles curled himself over his guitar, like it was his lover, blew Derek’s mind.  Every movement as Stiles made was full of reverence when he cradled the guitar and it was so hot it made Derek short of breath. 

The intimate darkness of the club helped hide his obvious fascination with the lean young man with his long clever fingers.  Derek made sure to sit near the back, keeping to the shadows, unprepared to meet the crooked smile the kid threw out to the audience now and again when he did remember he had an audience. 

Even from the back Derek knew the impossible color of Stiles eyes.  One of the waitresses had called it the color of Dalmore whisky and Derek asked her for a glass of it so that he could be sure.  She was not wrong.  And the whisky had been expensive but worth it.

That night he’d gotten drunk and stroked himself into a wild orgasm imagining Stiles’s clever hands winding themselves in his hair and his mouth on Derek’s neck. 

Derek’d never been this obsessed with anyone in all his life and when the jazz club shut due to health and safety issues, Stiles disappeared and Derek moped like he’d lost his one true love.  He threw himself into writing new lyrics and drove the band into learning the new stuff until they staged an intervention and refused to play until he cooled off. 

He stormed out of the warehouse and spent a week getting drunk and smoking too many cigarettes in his house, ignoring his sister Cora’s complaints until she left for a four month trip up the Amazon.

The only one he confessed to was Lydia.  He needed to tell someone about Stiles, about the way he played music with his entire being. The way, even though they’d never met in real life, the thought of Stiles with his skillful hands invaded his dreams and made him burn, made him feel unhinged and needy.  When he caved and talked to Lydia, she  watched him with serious eyes and then she’d researched Stiles and found that he was an English Lit major at the same college they all attended and had given him Stiles’ class schedule (and he had no idea how she got that and didn’t want to pry too much because plausible deniability) which he’d immediate binned because, really, he did not want to stalk some oblivious kid because he just was not that weird.

He wasn’t.

But at night he dreamed up ways of accidentally stumbling into Stiles and the dreams were becoming more and more surreal and fevered to the extent he tried not sleeping anymore and it played havoc with his classes and coursework.

Which is when Scott fell and broke his arm, the stupid fool. Which led the band to placing an advert for replacement guitarists to audition and for two days they suffered through sub-par guitarists and one or two barely adequate ones, and still no Stiles turned up. 

Derek sent all the prospects packing, one of them in floods of tears.  He slammed out of the warehouse and went to gym where he worked off excess energy, promising them that he’d be back in time for the final audition.  And then tonight, walking into the warehouse and recognizing Stiles and seeing those ridiculous eyes of his widen in shock almost made the feeling of going crazy with want worthwhile. 

He walked out onto the small stage and watched Stiles plug his axe into the amp.  He looked over and offered Derek a tentative smile that turned into a full blown grin when Boyd counted them in and then Stiles blew his fucking mind by playing his guitar like a rock god.

___________

 

They play for around two hours. Stiles has never had this much fun with his clothes on in all his life.  He can feel he fits with the band like he’s part of their puzzle.  He jams with Allison and they mug at one another behind Derek’s broad back as he prowls and struts and basically has filthy sex with the microphone as he growls out lyrics to well known rock songs and some of their own compositions.  Stiles finds that if he follows Derek’s lead and watches Allison it’s easy enough to pick up on the new stuff he doesn’t recognize from Hunter’s Moon’s previous sets he’s been to. Boyd plays the drums like a man possessed and Lydia ridiculously manages to play the keyboard and acts as a counterweight to their heavy rock.  And it all just works. 

Derek follows Stiles around for a few paces and they lean in together to shout into the microphone and it’s just perfect and in no way is the eye-fucking that happens between them for the duration of the lyrics anything but a show.  Scott enthusiastically applauds and whistles.  At some stage a hot blonde comes in with bags full of Chinese that she dumps on the table and flops down next to Scott, and after propping her feet in his lap, she pulls out a large text book from her bag and settles in to study.

They end the set about ten minutes later with Boyd throwing his sticks in the air after an impressive solo and Isaac lets out a whoop and high fives Stiles.

“Dude, where did you learn to play?”  He shouts, his eyes glinting with enjoyment.  “You blow my mind.”

“I’ve been playing forever.  My dad says I could play before I could talk.” Stiles watches Derek as he grabs a towel and wipes his face before turning away and smiling at Isaac.  “So, what do you think? I got a chance joining Hunter’s Moon?”

“I say yes!” Scott yells from his place on the couch.  “Only, I reckon that I won’t get my place back if you do.”

“He’s okay,” Lydia says, sauntering off to join Scott on the couch.  “I suppose we could trial him at the gig tomorrow night?”

“I think he’s in,” Boyd rumbles walking past him and shoulder checks him, but lightly.  “The boy’s got style.”

Allison leans her axe against the speaker and sweeps her dark curls behind her ears before dimpling at Stiles.  “I think he’s in, too.  Derek?”

Derek straightens and scowls at the rest of his band before, without looking, giving a curt nod of his head. “Yes, tomorrow night.  One gig, we see how he copes.”

Stiles watches Derek narrowly.  “And if I do?  Cope, I mean? What then?”

“Then, you join the band.”  Derek scowls at him.  “Will that be a problem?”

“What? No. I came to the audition, didn’t I?”

Somehow it’s just the two of them now.  The rest of the band’s congregating around the blonde and the Chinese, divvying up the food between them. 

“I just need to know that you want to be part of this.”  Derek steps closer, his voice dropping low. “No half measures here, kid. You’re either in or you’re out.  No dicking around.”

Stiles is aware that his breathing’s hitched because Derek’s right up in his personal space.  He can smell his aftershave and something he knows is intrinsically Derek.  The way he’s staring at Stiles is both terrifying and hot and when Stiles catches his lower lip between his teeth to worry at it, he finds himself fascinated at how Derek’s hazel green eyes drop to follow the movement, his iris’s blowing wide.

“Okay.”  Stiles swallows, hating how his voice is a bit hoarse. “One gig, we see how it goes.”

“Then we take it from there?”

“Okay.”

Derek inches slightly away from him, giving him a little bit more space but the intensity in his gaze doesn’t lessen. Stiles doesn’t wait for him to say anything else and basically turns tail and legs it back to where everyone’s laughing and talking about the session and who wants more egg rolls and char sui buns.  He grabs the beer Isaac holds out to him and takes a deep swallow, completely unnerved by the sheer want burning inside him after his brief encounter with the lead singer.  He definitely has a type and that type looks and sounds like Derek Hale.

___________

 

It’s late, possibly gone midnight when Stiles drops his guitar case and gear into the back of the Jeep.  The sky stretched above him is covered in stars and it’s so bright he has no trouble seeing the shadow that falls over him from behind.  He reacts out of instinct and spins, ready to punch whoever is trying to mug him but his fist is easily caught in Derek’s much larger hand and pushed aside.

“What are you doing?” He’s aware that Derek’s not let go of his hand.  His grip feels like a vice and it’s wrapped around his wrist, keeping him from moving.  “Did you want something?”

In answer Derek moves closer until they’re hip to thigh and the pressure of his muscular body pressed up against Stiles’ almost short circuit’s Stiles brain. He’s not sure what this guy is up to or what his game is and he desperately wants to be pissed at him for crowding him like this but god, the guy is staring at him with an intensity that could melt titanium and he felt volcano warm through his layers of clothing.

“Do we have a problem?” He tries again.  “Because if you don’t like me, just say so and I’ll fuck off and you can wait for Scott to heal his arm and play in the band again.  Seriously.  I mean, I like you guys, I like your music and you know what you’re doing on that stage so if I did something to annoy you?” He huffs out a laugh and widens his eyes. “I’m sorry, okay? Just don’t punch me in the face.  I have class on Monday and I won’t be able to explain walking around…”

Stiles makes a strangled noise of surprise in the back of his throat as Derek brings his free hand up to circle his throat. 

“You talk a lot.” Derek’s mouth is really close to his.  So close he can feel his lips moving against his.  “I just need you to be quiet, for a few seconds.  Can you do that for me?”

Stiles darts his tongue to lick his suddenly dry lips wondering if Derek had some issue with people talking in general or if was just him? He didn’t get far with that thought because suddenly Derek’s kissing him, with  _intent_ and a shocking need, making his knees buckle.

Stiles groans against Derek’s mouth, feeling the light scrape of his stubble against his jaw as Derek somehow manages to find a way to move even closer to him still.  He’s backed up against his Jeep and being kissed senseless by someone who clearly knows what they’re doing.

Derek takes his time, teasing any reluctance from Stiles, deepening the kiss, licking into his mouth and biting his lower lip until Stiles can’t quite remember who he is apart from the fact that he could quite possibly die happy.

He finds himself toying with the hem of Derek’s shirt and impulsively slips his hand beneath the fabric, flattening it against the larger man’s hip, dragging his fingers against his flank.  His fingers are callused from playing the guitar and he knows how great they feel trailing along sensitive skin from experience.

Derek hisses against his mouth, tilting Stiles’ head back by lightly manipulating his neck, exposing the long line of his neck to his collar bone before running his tongue down the length of it.

“You’re dangerous,” Derek mutters.  “I can’t think around you.  Fuck.”

“You don’t even know me.”  Stiles manages after getting his breath back.  He loves the feel of Derek’s skin beneath his fingers, especially how his hip feels beneath his thumb.  He explores the skin there, letting the tips of his fingers slide just beneath the edge of the waistband of Derek’s incredibly tight jeans. 

Derek’s mouth lifts from the curve of his neck to look down at him.  “I know who you are.  I’ve known who you are for a long time.”

“What? How?”  Stiles feels blindsided by this information and can only blink at Derek in surprise.

“You played at Lebbon’s jazz club. I’ve dropped in to check you out.”  Derek growls low in his throat.  “You’re talking again.  Can I just do  _this_  right now? To get you out of my system?”

Stiles is left with no doubt what he means by this when he starts kissing him again.  This time his hand drops away from around Stiles throat and instead it finds its way beneath his t-shirt, his palm coming to rest possessively against the small of Stiles’ back, pressing them closer still.

There is no denying it, Stiles decides.  He has an erection the size of the Eiffel tower and being this close to Derek is like being pushed into a furnace.  The guy runs hot and is obviously aroused.  He is also big, jeesus.  Stiles is no slouch in that department but he’s aware of Derek’s hard length against his hip and it is pretty impressive.

“What are we doing?” Stiles asks when Derek lifts his head after an eternity of fucking his mouth with his tongue.  “What…even?”

“Making out.  Like horny teenagers.”  Derek smirks at him.  “Is that an issue?”

“Yes.” Stiles watches him from lowered lashes, grateful for the darkness of the parking lot. “It’s not comfortable.  And I prefer making out in the safety and comfort of my apartment.”  He swallows.  “Or yours.  Whatever.”

“Are you propositioning me, Stiles Stilinski?”

“I thought you were the psych major, Derek Hale.  You tell me.”

Derek’s eyes narrow.  “You know who I am?”

“You knew who I was.  I researched the whole band, Derek. No way was I going to join a band I knew nothing about.”

“Huh.  Pretty and clever.  No wonder Lydia hates your guts.”

“Jeesus, what is wrong with you people?  I am not pretty.”

Derek tongues his neck, biting lightly at the tender skin where his neck meets his clavicle.  “You’re right.  You’re not pretty, Stiles.  You’re all whisky and cream. I want to fucking devour you.”

Stiles lets him have that because hot.  And the way his hands have splayed themselves to the front of Stiles’ jeans, framing his hard cock, pressing the fabric tighter against his length is driving him crazy.  Not to mention he way Derek’s thumbs keep rubbing his length through the fabric of his jeans is distracting and hot and weird and god, what was it with this guy?

“So? Apartment or dirty fucking up against my piece of shit Jeep?” Stiles asks after another few minutes of tonguing Derek’s mouth.

“No.” The word is ragged and sounds painful as Derek lifts his head away, tilting his head up in an attempt to breathe.

Stiles snapped his head back in surprise and narrowed his eyes at Derek.  “No? Dude, what the fuck? Are you playing some sort of sick game here or what?”

“No.”  Derek fists his hand into Stiles’s shirt, pulling him closer.  “Not tonight.  Not like this.  Let’s get through tomorrow night.  Play the gig and then afterwards…”

“Yeah? Afterwards?”

“Yes.  Afterwards you come back to mine or yours or basically where we can be alone and not this…”

The kiss is consuming and dirty and makes Stiles dizzy with want and he’s tempted to dip his hands into Derek’s jeans to try and convince him that dirty fucking against his piece of shit Jeep may not be the worst idea in the world ever, but he witnesses Derek scrape himself together and it’s frankly the hottest fucking thing he’s ever seen, knowing that this guy, someone he’s fantasised about for the past year, is struggling to keep his composure around him.

“And what do we do when I get back to yours?” Stiles asks because he’s stupidly in lust with Derek and the way he’s caged by his body and he wants to climb him like a pole. Basically.

“I fuck you.  We have sex.  I want my mouth on you.  I want your mouth on me.  I want you wrecked, stretched out exhausted beneath me.”  Derek’s voice is ragged.  “Would you be interested in that?”

“Possibly.”  But Stiles is smiling and it’s a smile full of mischief.  “Wreck me, huh?”

Derek takes one final long breath against his skin before pressing a soft chaste kiss against the corner of his lips.  “Get in your shitty car and drive away now, Stiles.  Tomorrow’s soon enough.”

 ___________

Stiles can’t sleep.  He keeps replaying the make-out session with Derek in the dark car park over and over in his head.  It freaks him out that he wasn’t too freaked out by Derek coming on to him and/or coming on so strong.  Sure, Stiles has kissed both boys and girls in college and in high school and sometimes those kisses were better than others and sometimes it did lead to some filthy and exciting things  _fumbled_ things but never has he been told and shown with such clarity that someone else was interesting in him.  In fucking him.

Dawn found Stiles doing a five mile run – voluntarily – to try and clear his mind. He got back to his tiny apartment, made a smoothie and pulled out his papers to start his paper.  An hour later it was obvious.  There is no way Stiles can concentrate on any of his coursework because his mind is full of Derek Hale kissing him and promising to do things to him. 

He grabs his guitar and notebook and walks out onto the small balcony of his apartment.  He’s got a chair and table set up out there and he carries his mug of coffee with him. He noodles around with a refrain that’s been running through his mind all morning.  He ran whilst humming it and knew that he had to get the bare bones of it down before it became the only thing he could think about.

 

Your kisses sear my soul

Your hands tear me apart

I can’t get enough of you

Your lips on mine

 

You’re going to break me

You’re going to rip me open

I can barely breathe when I see you

Your lips on mine

 

I watch you move

The way you smile when you know

I’m watching

Your lips on mine

 

Baby, I know you

I’ve always known you

You’re gonna wreck me

I want you to

 

Stiles scowls at the lyrics and groans.  He was so going to get badly hurt if the whole Derek-thing does happen.  There’s no way in Stiles’ world that it won’t blow up because his luck is the worst when it comes to relationships. It will be unpleasant and there will be tubs of ice cream and ugly crying.  He knows it, he can feel it in his bones.  But then he remembers the way Derek kissed him, pressing into him and how ragged his breathing felt against Stiles’ neck and he thinks that maybe who knows? Maybe he should just go with it and see what happens.  A broken heart could easily mean more material for songs? And everyone loves an angry break-up song, right?

He spends an hour writing music on the balcony, aware that his neighbor, Kelly had her window open listening to him singing softly to himself. 

She pops out onto her balcony after a bit and hands him a cup of coffee and some biscuits which he accepts gratefully before she heads back indoors again to get ready for work.  Just after midday his phone buzzes and he hooks it out of his hip pocket. It’s from a number he doesn’t recognize. 

 

**I need to see you before tonight**

**D**

 

He stills in surprise.

 

D? It has to be Derek.  He must have gotten his number from Isaac.  They shared numbers when he confirmed the audition the day before.

 

**Sure, you want to come over? I’m hanging out, writing songs and playing guitar.**

 

**Public place.  For my sanity. And your safety.**

**D**

 

He tries not to read too much in that so he just types back:

 

**Oh?**

The reply is almost instant.

 

**I can’t stop thinking about last night. I just need to see you for a few minutes before tonight, before we go on stage.**

Stiles can’t help the grin and the warm feeling spreading through him.

 

**Buy me a coffee and a muffin?**

 

Coffee is a safe bet. Public place and all that. 

 

**Name the place.**

**D**

Stiles sends Derek the name and address of his favourite independent coffee shop a few minutes from his apartment.  They agree to meet in half an hour which means he’s got enough to have a quick shower and put something on that almost looks like he’s cared enough to put together an outfit or something.

___________

 

The coffee shop is busy and it takes Derek a second to spot Stiles.  He’s got a seat near the window and he’s fiddling with his phone, looking anxious.  He’s wearing a black v-neck t-shirt and the color is such a striking contrast against his pale skin that Derek is momentarily distracted until someone clears their throat behind him because he’s blocking the door.  He scowls heavily at the woman (and possibly growls at her, he can’t be sure) and she visibly blanches, decides that she no longer needs that extra shot of coffee and hurriedly walks off.

When he looks up Stiles is staring at him and there’s amusement in his face and a grin forming around his full mouth, telling Derek that he’d just seen what happened.  Derek shrugs a “what can you do” shrug and walks over to him.

“You literally are the worst person.  That poor woman.  What did you do to her?”

“She tutted at me,” Derek mutters darkly, standing over Stiles.  “I may have growled at her.”

Stiles is laughing openly now and it’s such a great sound it almost makes Derek grin. 

“What do you want?” When Stiles’s grin goes wide from amused to downright filthy Derek has to make a supreme effort not to lean down and kiss him in the most insane way possible.  Instead he snaps his fingers at Stiles to get his attention back up to his face. “To drink, you fool.”  But the words hold no heat only deep amusement.

“Cappuccino, double shot.  And a blueberry muffin, please.  I’ve not had any food today.”

“Is this a thing?” Derek asks him.  “Not eating?”

“What? Jeesus, it’s not a thing.  I’ve just been distracted today.  I’ve got something to show you when you get back.”

Derek nods slowly before walking up to the barista who looks like she’s about to ovulate all over the counter when Derek leans towards her.

When he gets back to the table Stiles has his messenger bag open and is rummaging in it, a pencil firmly gripped in his mouth. Because it’s distracting and lewd, the way his lips curl around the offending pencil, Derek tugs it from his mouth and puts it on the table. For his own sanity.

“Oh, thanks.” Stiles finds his battered notebook and shuffles things around so he can flip it open. 

Derek settles into the comfortable leather chair next to him, watching Stiles’s hands as he pages through copious amounts of notes and doodles before finding what he’s after. He thinks Stiles has impossibly beautiful hands, delicate and strong.  The way they curved around his hip last night, the calluses on his fingertips scratching the tender spot just above his hipbone, drove him crazy.  It fuelled his early morning lust as he thrust into his own hand in the shower and although it had been satisfying it hadn’t been  _Stiles._

“So, I couldn’t sleep or concentrate on my paper that’s due on Monday so instead I started writing.  What do you think?”

Derek tugs the notebook closer, careful not to let his fingers graze Stiles’ hand.  He has to try and maintain control somehow and being this close to Stiles, with their knees touching, and with Stiles watching him with a slight worried frown, and the way he’s breaking the muffin apart and sharing it onto a side-plate for Derek is possibly just too much for his heart to take.

He stares at the words on the page for a few seconds practicing breathing like a normal person before he actually sees what’s written there.

“You wrote this?”

Stiles rolls his eyes.  “Yes, I wrote it with my own fair hand.”  Then, anxiously.  “Does it suck?”

“Can you sing it?”

“Yes.  Oh, you mean now?”

Derek nods. “Please.”

Stiles breathes deeply, pops a bit of muffin into his mouth and takes a sip of his cappuccino. He glances around them but there’s enough tables free around them not to attract too much attention.

“Don’t think about it,” Derek advises him.  “Just do it. Pretend no one else will hear you.”

Stiles licks his lips and gives a nod.  “Okay. But stop me if this doesn’t work for you.”

Derek doubts that he would ever want to stop Stiles from doing anything but he watches with interest anyway as the younger man fidgets for a few more seconds before he starts humming, his long fingers tapping the beat on the table in front of him.

 

 

Your kisses sear my soul

Your hands tear me apart

I can’t get enough of you

Your lips on mine

 

Stiles’ voice shakes a little as he strains to keep his voice low and there’s a hoarse quality to it, a slight rough edge, that folds around Derek and he wants nothing more than to start kissing him again.  The song was about the kisses they shared last night.  It was sexy and sweet and he could tell Stiles is terrified about getting hurt. 

The few people who can hear Stiles singing go quiet to listen but he doesn’t seem to notice.  He’s focused entirely on Derek’s face and Derek’s reaction to the song so when he receives a round of applause at the breathy end of the song, his head snaps up in surprise. He gives an embarrassed laugh before turning back to Derek.

Derek shifts closer and, closing the notebook, leans towards Stiles.

“I like it.  A lot.” He can’t help it when his gaze drops to Stiles’ mouth. “It’s not our usual thing, but I reckon we can work with it.  Have you got more?”

“So many more it hurts.”  Stiles takes a sip of his coffee and groans into the mug.  “Oh god, if I could mainline this stuff I would.  Have you tried it yet?”

“Can you not make sex noises when I’m around you?  I’m doing my best not to drag you of your chair and into my car.” Derek can’t help the laugh at Stiles’ startled expression.  “I’ve got it so bad for you, Stiles, you have no idea.”

“Are you kidding me?” Stiles can’t believe the words coming out of Derek’s mouth. “You’re joking, right? Why would you even…? I mean, obviously I am a super cool guy and I make a mean omelet but, I don’t understand what you possibly…?”

Derek’s hand folds around Stiles’ hand in an attempt to stop him gesturing. 

“Every. Single. Thing. About. You.” Derek grinds out in a hoarse voice.  “The way you smile, talk, flirt.  Jeesus, do you know what you do to me when you bow yourself over your guitar when you’re playing? It’s like you’re doing something far more intimate than just playing the guitar.  The way your hands move and the utterly ridiculous way you catch your lip between your teeth when you concentrate on something?” He breathes a ragged breath.  “I know this sounds like I’ve been stalking you and I swear to god I haven’t, not in the way you’d think, but I went to every single gig you held at the jazz place. I was fascinated by how you lost yourself in your music. I’ve never seen anyone else do that before.  It was like the music spoke through you.  It drove me crazy. I tried getting courage together to talk to you and the night I decided to do it the place shut down.  I went kinda crazy and then Scott broke his arm and I thought, you know, maybe you’d turn up to audition and you did and then I go an act like I can’t control myself.” Derek rubs a hand through his hair, making it stand up even more.  “Stiles, I’m sorry about last night. I’m worried about fucking it up because I’m behaving like a hormonal teenager because mostly all I want to do is kiss you.”

Stiles watches him quietly for a few seconds, somehow knowing that this monologue was possibly the most Derek had spoken to anyone in a long time.  The shock of being told rock god Derek Hale came to every one of his gigs negates any levels of creepy it might have induced as well, so he sits very still for a few seconds, choosing his words carefully.

“I never saw you,” Stiles eventually says.  “I had no idea…”

“No one did.  Except for Lydia.  Afterwards.  I had to tell her.”

“You should have come to talk to me. I hated that place but they paid well and I had to make money somehow.” He looks down to where Derek’s still holding his hand in a tight grip and carefully, so as not to give the wrong impression, he eases his hand out of Derek’s and tangles their fingers together.  “And although it should seem weird and stalkerish, it really isn’t.  I get it.”

“You do?”  Derek seems endlessly fascinated by their joined hands.

“I do.  I’ve never had anyone talk to me about my music the way you just did.  I felt the same way I saw you guys perform for the first time.”

This time it’s Derek’s chance to look surprised and possibly a bit smug.

“Yeah? What did you think?”

“That possibly the lead singer should smile more and not snarl at unsuspecting housewives sitting in the audience when they yell at him to take his shirt off.”

“You were there?”

“Oh yes.”

“Fuck, that gig was a disaster.”

“No. It was fun.  You guys were true rock stars and everyone had a ball.  Even the housewives at table nine.”

Stiles pops some more pieces of muffin into his mouth before speaking again.

“So, what if tonight is a complete disaster?  What if I forget how to play and I break my arm jumping around the stage with Allison? What then?”  He manages to keep the real panic from his voice but he felt the nip of it at the back of his neck, a thick insidious voice telling him that it was all going to go oh so very badly for him. 

“I won’t let you get hurt.  Tonight won’t be a disaster.  Shut up and drink your coffee.”

“Yes, but what if, for instance I forget how to play a cover for a song or I can’t keep up with your new material?”

Derek arches a brow at the genuine concern in Stiles’ voice. “Seriously? You’re worried?”

“I’m like, serious like death.” His tone held something Derek recognized, he could tell by the way his eyes darkened before he leans in closer and brushes his lips across his. 

“You’re going to be fine. You got this.”

 

___________

 

Scott throws his arm around and grins at him. 

“You okay? You guys are killing it out there tonight.  The crowd’s loving it.”

“It’s intense,” Stiles mutters around a bottle of water he downs and discards before reaching for another one.  “I never thought I’d be out there tonight. In front of such a big crowd.”

Scott cocks his head to one side and looks at him in shock. “You are shitting me, right, bro?  You have no idea how good you are, do you?”

“Shut up,” Stiles says, shouldering him away.  “You’re also hot and sticky and breathing beer breath over me.  Where’s Allison? Go and pester her, leave me so I can have an existential breakdown about the validity of my life choices.”

Scott crows his laughter but he lets himself be pushed out of the tiny room Stiles managed to find at the back of the club they’re playing at.  It’s not much but it’s a place where Stiles can talk himself into keeping it together.  He weaned himself off any displays of anxiety in the past, taking up music helped for sure, but faced with a crowd of people that big just outside the door…it was almost too much to handle.

Added to that there’s seeing Derek on stage and feeling pole-axed that the guy all the women and some guys were screaming for was into him, Stiles Stilinski, geek, English Lit major and all round boring guy, was just too much to get his head around and there were a few times where he dropped a few notes and just stared as Derek flexed and prowled around the stage, exuding general hotness and the promise of sex.

He loses time sitting in the small darkened room, concentrating on breathing, at keeping doubts at bay but it doesn’t work very well so by the time someone knocks on the door, Stiles has his eyes shut in an attempt to just block it all out.  

“Stiles?”  Derek pushes the door open and flicks on the overhead light without any ceremony.  “Scott said you were in here are you…”

Stiles looks up from where he’s sitting on the floor examining his trembling fingers.

“Jeesus, Stiles, are you okay?”

Derek locks the door behind him and kneels down next to Stiles, wrapping a large hand around one of Stiles’s.  “You’re freezing, what’s going on?”

“Panic attack,” Stiles gasps, fisting his free hand into Derek’s shirt.  “They happen now and again.  It’s ugly, but it goes away.”

A look of anxiety crosses Derek’s face but then he roughly pulls Stiles up onto his knees so that they’re face to face.  Stiles’ eyes open wide in surprise at the rough treatment but before he can say anything else Derek’s kissing him.

The kiss is devastating.  Unlike the night before this one isn’t hurried or feral. It’s slow and starts sweet as Derek cups his face and teases Stiles’ lips apart with soft murmurs of encouragement.  For a few seconds Stiles is too panicked to respond but then when Stiles kisses him back Derek moans into his open mouth, tightening his grip on the younger man’s hips and buries his face in the crook of his neck. 

“I can’t wait for tonight,” he grinds out.  “No parties after the gig, no dinner, no drinks. Straight home.  Promise me?”

“What if…” Stiles starts but Derek effectively shuts him up with another kiss until he notices that Stiles is shaking against him, with laughter this time.

“Are you laughing at me?”

“Is this how you’re going to make sure we never argue? That I never say the words “what if” ever again?  By kissing me senseless?”

“Possibly.” Derek considers the question with a serious expression.  “Yes, definitely. Every time.”

There’s a knock on the door and Allison’s voice pipes up.  “Guys? We’re ready to go on when you are.”

“We’ll be right out.” Derek calls back over his shoulder, standing up.  “You good?”

“I am, thanks.”

“You sure? You need another kiss or five?”

Stiles laughs when Derek crowds him up against the door giving him a searing look from beneath a quirked brow.   “Really, you’re sure? Just to make sure you’re okay and won’t freak out on me on stage?”

“Well, okay, maybe one more kiss and then we have to…oh my god, what are you doing, Derek?” his yelp of surprise makes Derek chuckle and back away from him but not before Derek’s thumb rubs over the light bite mark he left behind on the exposed skin of Stiles’ neck.

“You marked me?” Stiles claps a hand to his neck.  “Jeesus, Hale.  You’re a piece of work.”

Derek smirks at him and pulls open the door.  “Just so you remember our little talk.”

___________

 

The rest of the gig goes wildly well.  Allison and Stiles and Isaac bond on stage by starting a riff off and it ends with Stiles kneeling over Isaac’s prone body as if he’d just killed him by outplaying him.  The crowd loves it and when Derek stalks over to pretend-berate them everyone howls in laughter.  Stiles, knowing full well that he was playing with fire, uses Derek as a pole to lever himself up off Isaac and it gets the crowd hooting and hollering at them.

The searingly dark look Derek shoots him leaves Stiles breathless but when Derek turns back to the audience he’s wearing a shit-eating grin.

“That’s Stiles Stilinksi, our newest member, folks! He wrote something too that we’ve been working on today so, how about you put your hands together to try and encourage him to come over here and play it for us.”

Stiles stares at Derek in shock but then when Allison grabs his hand and leads him to the front of the stage, he takes a deep breath, flips a mental finger at the darkness threatening to spill into his light, and grins out at the sea of faces, very aware of Derek watching him from the sidelines, looking a tiny bit nervous.

“Uh, thanks Derek. You bastard.  See me after the show so I can hurt you in ways you can’t imagine.”  The crowd whistles and stomps at this. “And no, it won’t be sexy.”  More laughter.  “So, I wrote this song after one jamming session with the guys from Hunter’s Moon.  Only Derek’s heard it so far and my neighbor Kelly but she loves me and is tone deaf, so I hope you guys like it.”

He swaps his axe for the acoustic Martin with her sweet belly and slender neck and smiles a thanks at Isaac who pulls a tall chair forward for him to sit down on.

Aware that all eyes are on him, Stiles takes a breath, finds the chords and the words and starts playing.  The tune itself isn’t difficult and both Allison and Isaac soon find the rhythm as Boyd brings the percussion.  Lydia’s moved forward to watch him and the smile she directs at him as he looks up during the chorus blows his mind because it’s a smile that says,  _I get it_. 

He smiles sweetly back at her and goes back to the lyrics, knowing that Derek’s standing right there, listening and knowing that the song was about them, about the night before.

When the song ends with Lydia leaning in to harmonize the refrain, there’s absolute silence in the club for a full few seconds before everyone starts cheering and applauding and whistling. 

Stiles leans back in the chair and beams at them, catching Derek’s eye where he’s standing slightly to the side, his arms folded across his impressive chest, his face wearing a ridiculously fond expression.

“Good job, Stiles,” Lydia breathes in his ear.  “Derek’s a decent guy.  Give him a chance.  Please.  For all our sakes.”

Before Stiles can respond Allison runs up and gives him a hug smearing her lipstick all over his face in a show of elaborate kissing that has Stiles trying to bat her away with a “uch girl cooties” gestures, much to her hilarity.

He gets a high five from Isaac and it’s only when he gets off the chair and switches guitars that Derek leans forward, tugging him into a hug.

“Hot as hell, Stiles.  The things you make me want to do to you.”

He lets go of Stiles and walks back up to the mike as if making comments like that meant nothing really at all, leaving Stiles to fumble his guitar strap whilst concentrating on not swooning.

Allison catches his dazed expression and grins at him, giving him a sly wink and thumbs up, pursing her lips in a kiss at him and he laughs at her, not even remotely embarrassed to be seen making googly eyes at Derek.

It’s crazy. The band is crazy.  He loves it and he’s possibly in danger of falling for Derek Hale in a very bad way.

 

___________

  

Stiles pushes the apartment door open with his hip and just manages to dump his kit on the floor before Derek pushes the door shut behind him.  He has Stiles up against the door, pulling his shirt off him and when his shirt gets stuck on his head, halfway off, Derek presses a hot kiss promising filthy sex on Stiles’s open mouth. He catches both of Stiles’ hands in one of his as Stiles squirms in an attempt to get rid of the shirt. He opens his mouth to complain but Derek stills him with a hand on his throat. 

“Shh.  Trust me.”

“Not comfortable,” Stiles mutters, hating that he must look pretty stupid with his shirt half stuck to his face and his arms pinned to the door by Derek’s much larger hands.

“I don’t care.  I like you like this.  At my mercy.”

Stiles shivers at the phrase.  Having his eyes covered makes him feel vulnerable and so turned on he might pass out.  Derek blazes a trail of kisses down his throat, along his collar bone, licking and sucking at his skin.  There are tiny bites too that make Stiles whimper.  He doesn’t even care that Derek might be leaving marks, not when he feels Derek’s other hand unbuckling his belt and undoing his jeans.

“Commando?” Derek’s voice is low and raw.  “You are out to fucking kill me, aren’t you?”

“You talk too much,” Stiles mutters.  “Do something else with your mouth.”

Derek plants another searing kiss on Stiles, pressing him hard into the door with the length of his muscled body, fitting a thigh between Stiles’ legs, spreading him wider.

“Better?” Derek smirks against his mouth before stepping away.  “Lift your feet.”

Stiles does as he’s bid and Derek removes his jeans, socks and shoes.  His breath hitches in his throat as Derek’s hot breath tickles the underside of his cock for the briefest of seconds before his fingers wrap around his length.

“Your shirt,” Derek tells him.  “Why don’t you get rid of that too?”

Stiles sighs in relief and tugs it off his head.  He tosses it in the general direction of the couch. “Why are you still dressed?” he demands to know but unable to do anything about his because Derek’s hands and mouth are all over him and he honestly cannot think straight.

“I’m busy.” The look Derek gives him, his mouth poised over Stiles’s cock, turns Stiles knees to water and he grips Derek’s shoulders.  Still watching him, Derek takes him into his mouth and oh god, it is possibly the most divine feeling in the world because Derek’s mouth feels wet and hot and like heaven.  Stiles makes a ragged noise in the back of his throat, clenching his fists at his side.

“Up.  Right now.”  Derek lets himself be manhandled further into the apartment and into Stiles’s bedroom.  Stiles spins him around and pulls his jacket off and dumps it unceremoniously on the floor and kicks it out of the way before tackling Derek’s Henley.  This time he does the same thing Derek did to him, tugging it only halfway off before wildly kissing him, biting and tonguing the length of his neck, dropping his head lower to circle and bite at Derek’s nipples.  He takes his time to appreciate how well built Derek is, dragging first his fingers along Derek’s exposed abs before licking and biting his way down the little bit of hair peeking above his low-slung trousers. Derek lets out a gasp as Stiles yanks the shirt off all the way before dropping to his knees in front of him.  He works at the buttons on Derek’s jeans, watching Derek’s face as he purposefully struggles with each button, causing more friction than entirely necessary.

“Fuck…” Derek breathes as Stiles dips his head over the exposed tip, his tongue swirling lightly over it, taking the pre-cum with it. “Your mouth was made to be fucked.”

Stiles can’t help the grin. “Really?”

Derek nods, his breathing hitching. “I’d watch you play at the jazz club and have the filthiest thoughts about your mouth, what it could do to me.  What I wanted you to do to me.”

“And you never came to talk to me?”

“I wanted to fuck your brains out,” Derek grinds out raggedly as Stiles bobs his head, taking all of Derek’s length into his mouth.  “Not talk to you.”

Stiles hums against him and Derek’s fingers curl into the untidy mess of his hair, dropping his head back to let out a deep groan.

“Stiles?”

“Derek?”

“If you don’t get up off your knees I will fuck your mouth and it’s going to get messy.”

___________

 

Derek hauls him to his feet and pushes him back onto the bed.  His gaze rakes the length of Stiles’s lean body before he settles between his legs. 

“Give me your hand,” he instructs Stiles who complies, more than a little intrigued.  “Like this.”

He wraps Stiles’ hand around both of them and starts a slow rhythm.  “Slow and steady.”

Stiles arches into Derek’s hand a few times before he takes over. 

“Like this?”

“Yes.”  Derek’s expression is glazed as he looks down at what Stiles’ is doing.  “Do you have…?”

With his spare hand Stiles reaches out and palms the tube of lube from his bedside drawer and passes it to Derek.  “Are you okay with me doing this?” Derek asks him.

“You had my cock in your mouth,” Stiles points out. “You’ve been telling me for twenty four hours that you want to do this to me.  I’m pretty sure I’m on board with whatever you’re planning.”

“Oh good.”  Derek’s grin is savage.  “Because I think I’d like to wreck you.  You up for that?”

Stiles drags his guitar calloused fingers up Derek’s length and laughs at him when he lets out an involuntary groan.  “You could try.”

 

___________

 

Stiles loses every single coherent thought when Derek warms the lube on his fingers and slowly starts playing with his hole.  His hands are large, far larger than Stiles’ and although Stiles had lovers in the past, some considerate, some very much less so, the way Derek touches him made him feel boneless with need. When Derek makes soft appreciative noises in the back of his throat as he slowly sinks one finger in Stiles lets out a whimper.  He meets the older man’s gaze and tries to smile but instead the smile changes into a gasp and he arcs his back, thursting their cocks together in his grip.

“Oh fuck, Derek, you’re killing me,” he rasps out peering at him across the length of his body.  “And you know it, you bastard.”

“You want me to stop?” Derek asks as he drags his finger out in a languid motion.  “Or do you want me to go on? And maybe add another?”

As he says this he leans forward, bracing himself with one hand on the side of Stiles head whilst working a second finger into him.  Stiles’ irises are blow wide with want and he gasps audibly before blindly reaching for Derek’s neck and pulling him in for a wet open mouthed kiss that’s all tongue and no finesse.

Derek doesn’t seem to mind and he arches his body over Stiles’, working his hand between his cheeks whilst moving his hips in a slow thrust into Stiles’ hand.

“I’m going to come,” Stiles mutters darkly.  “If you want to ride this you better do it fast or…”

“Is this your way of telling me you want me to fuck you?”

“Jeesus, Derek, just do it already.  I’ve not thought about anything in the past twenty four hours.  I can’t stand it anymore.”

Derek laughs against his mouth but it’s an easy, lightly teasing, laugh. 

“You have a way with words, Stiles.”

“Shut up and fuck me.”  In desperation Stiles sinks his teeth into Derek’s shoulder before immediately soothing it with his lips and tongue.  “Just, I can’t anymore…”

Derek stills, his eyes very wide and dark in the darkness.  “How do you want it?”  He pulls Stiles’ hand away from their twitching cocks and grips both his wrists in one hand above his head.  “Do you want me to ride you like this, so I can watch you come?” He gives a long slow roll of his hips that makes Stiles moan. “Or do I flip you over and fuck you from behind?  What do you prefer?”

“And now you want me making decisions?” Stiles moans squirming against Derek. 

“Poor baby.”  Derek straddles his hips and tucks both hands into his hair, stilling him so that he can kiss him.  Stiles falls into the kiss with all his naked soul and he soaks it up, getting his own hands into Derek’s short hair and tugging at it.  The feel of Derek’s skin against his, the way his hands wander across Stiles’ body, curling around his hips and pushing him into the mattress so he can’t move drives him insane and helps him decide.

“Take me,” he gasps when Derek lifts his head after a long time of kissing him senseless.  “No questions asked, just do it.  You promised to wreck me.”

Derek stares at him for the longest time until it feels like Stiles is drowning in the depths of his eyes.  “Let’s see what I can do about that.”

Stiles lets out a startled yelp when Derek flips him over onto his stomach without any warning.  Derek pulls one of the pillows down the bed and tucks it beneath Stiles, giving him no chance to even think about it. Stiles blindly reaches for the earlier condom before curling his arms in front of his face and bracing himself.

“Boy scout,” Derek murmurs palming the packet before sinking his face between Stiles’ cheeks, his hot wet tongue licking insistently at his hole. Stiles moans into his arms and squirms against Derek’s wicked tongue as it slowly but surely edges its way into him.  Just when Stiles thinks he’s going to pass out from pleasure, Derek starts working on him with his fingers, slowly widening him, preparing him.  He takes his time doing this, keeping a steading hand on Stiles’ lower back as he curves his fingers inside him, taking his time to drag them out and slowly thrusting them back in again.

Stiles honestly can’t stop the ragged moans escaping from him as Derek fingers him.  Jeesus, the guy knew what he was doing. 

“Are you…?” Derek asks one last time before Stiles reaches around and grips his wrist hard.

“Just. Fucking. Do. It.”

Derek huffs out a soft laugh at his tone.  “As you wish…”

He’s hard and the condom slides on easily.  He positions himself behind Stiles and slowly, to the point of excruciating, presses himself into the younger man. He keeps a steadying hand on Stiles’ back, reading his body, loving the way he stiffens then relaxes lightly when Derek bottoms out, keeping still for a few moments.  Gently, with shocking wantoness, Stiles leans back and rolls his hips against Derek’s thighs, clenching himself around Derek’s cock.

Derek gasps, not quite believing how incredible it felt being inside Stiles, how hot he was or how wet. He starts moving against him, gently, letting Stiles get used to him before increasing the tempo.  Stiles arches and moans against him, blindly reaching for one of his hands to hold on to, digging his nails into Derek’s skin.

Stiles writhes in pleasure, twisting his head so that he can give Derek wanton open mouthed kisses that drives them both insane.  He arches into Derek’s hand as Derek wraps a large hand around his cock, stroking him rhythmically in time with his thrusts.

“Derek, jeezus, you’re killing me...”

Stiles can’t help the shudder as Derek’s cock drags past his prostate. “I’m not going to last much longer,” he confesses, his voice a long shuddering sigh.

Derek grins against his neck and delicately tongues the throbbing vein there, nipping and sucking at it.

“It’s not a race, Stiles,” he whispers.  “This is not a one-time thing either.”

“It’s not?” Stiles rasps, obviously surprised, twisting his head around to look at him.  “You don’t _just_  need to get me out of your system?”

“You’re not just a quick lay, Stiles.”  Derek feels his eyes flutter shut as Stiles contracts around him, squeezing him tighter. “I can’t actually imagine you not being in my life.”

“Oh my god.” Stiles exhales and shudders in Derek’s grip as he comes. “I’m sorry…that was not…”

“Shut up and kiss me, Stiles.”

Stiles hums against his mouth and deepens the kiss, sucking on his tongue with obscene skill.  Derek moans and his hips jerk as he slams into Stiles a handful of times before he comes, his whole body quivering with the feel of it as he fills his lover.

Stiles makes a soft yelping noise as Derek lets himself fall across his back, spent and breathing heavily. He collapses forward taking Derek with him and as they flop onto the bed, Stiles twists and takes most of Derek’s weight back on him.

“We’re making a mess of your bedding,” Derek says seriously, pulling the condom off and tying it off before dropping it into the waste basket next to the nightstand.  He reaches for whoever’s t-shirt is closest and passes it to Stiles to wipe himself clean.

Stiles shrugs, a smirk on his face.  “It’s okay.  It’s wash day tomorrow anyway.”

Derek bends his wrist so he can run his hand through Stiles’ crazy hair.  “You look smug.”

“I’m just a little smug.” Stiles squirms sideways so he can look at Derek. “Is this real?”

Derek’s look is slow and hot as he takes in Stiles’ wide mouth and the slight apprehension in Stiles’ eyes.  Raising his free hand he rubs it along Stiles’ jaw, dropping it to rest on the curve of his neck and shoulder.   What was his life even to have this talented beautiful manchild in his bed watching him with such serious eyes.

It’s not his fault that his voice hitches when he speaks again. “It’s real.”

Stiles is quiet for a moment, running long fingers down Derek’s side, before he speaks again. “What will the band say?”

“Not that you should even care about that, but they’ll happy.  For us both.  They really like you.  Scott is delirious that you did so well tonight and is making noises about not even bothering to join back up again once his arm’s better.  Lydia will be quietly sarcastic and make pointed remarks but she’ll be happy for us too.”

“Lydia scares me,” Stiles admits, his eyes drifting shut.

“Lydia is going to rule the world one day.  She should scare everyone.”

Stiles huffs out a small laugh and curves an arm around Derek’s waist, pulling him closer.

“So tired,” he mutters.  “But happy.”

Derek watches him fall asleep before pulling the covers of them both and drifting off into a dreamless sleep for the first time in a long time. 

___________

 

Stiles feels nervous walking into the warehouse a week later.  He’s carrying his notebook, print-outs and both his acoustic guitars.  The only person who’s there is Derek and he’s standing on the stage, turned slightly aside. His eyes are closed and he’s obviously deep in thought, and for a second Stiles hesitates, thinking that maybe he should go and wait for the rest of the band to turn up, when Derek turns around and looks at him.  The look is an electric surge through his body, rooting him to the spot and Stiles swallows against the sudden dryness in his throat.

“Hey,” Derek says, his voice gruff before jumping off the small stage and walking over.  “I missed you.”

Stiles makes a surprised noise at the back of his throat as Derek ignores the fact that his hands are full and pushes right into his space, claiming his mouth in a soft slow kiss that sears through him and settles a low heat in the pit of his stomach.  

“I missed you too,” Stiles admits when Derek lifts his head, his dark eyes even darker with lust, unable to help the soft flush that creeps across his face.  It’s ridiculous how they can’t get enough of one another because they’d been to dinner last night and made out for hours before Derek reluctantly left so that Stiles could do coursework.

“Where’s everyone else?”

“They’ll be here soon.”  

Stiles smiles at him.  “Dude, you’re crowding me.  If I drop everything I’m holding, I’ll do damage to you and I’ve got to set up and notes to organize.” He breathes through his nose in an attempt to steady his nerves.  “I don’t know if they’re going to like this new stuff I’ve written.  I’m a wreck.”

Derek smirks and steps away.  “Fine, get your kit set up.  I’ll just be over here, on the couch.”

Stiles nods and walks away towards the stage when something soft smacks the back of his head.  He turns around and sees Derek standing shirtless by the couch. And god, the sight of so much naked skin and those perfect abs and the shoulders that just go on for a week…is enough to completely still his anxiety.

“I’ve not had my hands and lips on you in around eight hours, Stiles.  Leave your stuff and get back here.”

“The notes…”

“Fuck the notes, Stiles.  We’ve got two hours before anyone’s going to be here.”

“Oh.” Stiles carefully puts his stuff down.  “So, you want to make out?”

“Yes.  I want to make out.  And do other things to you.”

“Things?  What things?”

“You want me to tell you? Or show you?” 

Stiles picks up Derek’s shirt from the ground and tosses it back at him before walking over.

“You’re a menace to my sanity, Derek Hale.  How did I get this lucky?”

Derek’s eyes are intense as he watches Stiles strip his own shirt away before he reaches for him, pulling him down onto the couch and lowering himself against Stiles.

“I think we need to thank Scott for breaking his arm in the first place?” he mutters, kissing along Stiles’ jaw, and down his chest.

“Yeah, we should do that.  Totally.  Definitely.” Stiles’ eyes flutter shut as Derek palms him through his jeans and he lets out a moan.  “Oh my god, Derek.  You’re going to be the end of me.”

Derek laughs softly at his words and dips his fingers beneath Stiles’ waistband.

“You’re so dramatic, lover.  Just lie there and enjoy the ride.”

Stiles’ stills for a second.  “That sounds like lyrics,” he says.

“It could be.  Remember it.  For later.”

Stiles mutters and closes his eyes and lies there, enjoying the ride. 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Derek is pushy, he kisses Stiles near the beginning without encouragement. Don't do this folks, it's not nice.
> 
> My tumblr is pretty new but find me there as: http://londonpack.tumblr.com/


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